


Secret Agent Man

by haganenoheichou



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Impromptu Surgery, M/M, Not-So-Innocent Bystander!Ed, Secret Agent!Roy, doctor!ed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 08:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13142766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haganenoheichou/pseuds/haganenoheichou
Summary: Edward Elric is forced into a gala hosted by his father's hospital. He meets Roy Mustang who promptly gets shot. Ed gets involved.Written for the RoyEd Gift Exchange 2017!





	Secret Agent Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheHMMWV (Smoke_Screen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smoke_Screen/gifts).



> For my giftee, thehmmwv, who requested modern AU and hurt/comfort! Hope you like it and Merry Christmas!

Edward really didn't want to be here right now. It was a Saturday night, and instead of being in bed with a beloved book or three hundred, he was stuck at this fancy-ass hotel bar, waiting for his father to get his fill of self-assured praise from his high-end patients and the people who ran the hospital in which he was the most prominent star. Social masturbation, that’s what Ed called it. This entire party’s purpose was to make Hohenheim feel better about being shit at everything but his job.

Like, for example, parenthood.

Which was why Edward found himself sitting at the bar and nursing his third drink of the night within the first two hours of the party. Alphonse had managed to get out of being at this stupid party by fleeing to some South American rainforest or other where he worked tirelessly to save the mice. Or the snakes. Or something else. The point was that Alphonse was continually saving something and thus, had the best excuses not to be subjected to nights like these. 

Ed, on the other hand, having chosen a medical career by his father's nagging, was left to suffer.

“You look like you could use some company.”

Ed looked to his right to see a tallish man, several years his senior, slide onto the stool next to his. Dressed impeccably in a dark blue suit, his hair roguishly unkempt just the right amount to be able to fit in but still come off as a rebel, the man was the very definition of pretentious.

Still, Ed was in the mood for entertainment. "What gave that away? My pretty eyes or my general air of tragic loneliness?" He asked, sipping his martini.

The man lifted an eyebrow. He apparently hadn't expected the young man to reply so bluntly. "Your facial expressions indicate exasperation and boredom."

He flagged down the bartender and ordered himself a martini as well. “Even though your eyes are quite lovely.”

Ed snorted. “So what, is this the beginning of some weird attempt to schmooze and impress me?”

“I am simply here for a drink and company,” the man said with a shrug as he watched the bartender closely while he prepared his drink. Then his eyes snapped back to Ed’s, and the younger man found himself just a little flustered. The man had lovely eyes.

“I take it you aren’t here for the Xerxes Hospital soiree, then?” Ed asked, taking a sip.

The man shook his head. “I am staying at the hotel,” he said. “On business.”

Something about the vague way he said it made Edward a little bit uneasy, but he brushed the feeling off. Perhaps the alcohol was making him paranoid.

The man's drink arrived, and he toasted Ed with it. "Nice to make your acquaintance," he said, his eyes still fixed on Ed's face. "My name is Roy Mustang."

“Edward Elric,” the younger man replied automatically, his drink lifted off the bar counter. _Well, look at you,_ he thought to himself bitterly as he took a healthy gulp of his drink that made his throat burn. _Socializing and shit. You’re turning into Hohenheim._

Roy made a face, placing his drink back down. “Ghastly. They have no idea how to make a proper martini.”

The bartender gave him a dirty look, and Edward snorted quietly into his drink.

“It does the trick,” he said, “when you’re trying to forget you’re in the middle of a waking nightmare.”

“I take it you don’t enjoy such functions?” Roy asked, nodding towards where Hohenheim was doing yet _another_ speech, already quite tipsy. His fawning sycophants surrounded the small stage that had been placed there for such purposes, murmuring in agreement to his every word.

Edward grimaced. “Not at all.”

“Forgive me if I am wrong,” Roy said, leaning in closer, “but you seem to be a little too young to be a doctor.”

Edward shot him a glare. “You saying I’m short?”

The man gave him a confused look. “I merely said you looked _young_.”

Ed relaxed a little at that, leaning against the bar. “I’m finishing up in med school. Gonna be the youngest doctor in that damn place,” he said, with a little touch of pride in his voice.

Roy appeared duly impressed. “You’re quite gifted, then?”

“I’m a fucking genius.”

A small smile snuck its way onto Roy’s lips. “And that has nothing to do with being the chief surgeon’s son?”

Edward’s lips parted in surprise as he felt as though he’d been doused with freezing cold water. Of course. This guy was probably just talking to him because he knew somehow that he was Hohenheim’s–

“Please forgive me, I didn’t intend to make it sound as though I was merely using you for connections,” Roy said quickly. “I am not here for the party. Really.”

“And yet you still know about my family,” Ed said, frowning.

“I’m a journalist. Medical magazine,” Roy replied, and Ed narrowed his eyes at him, not buying it for a single second. The older man shuffled a little in his seat before hopping off the stool.

“I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he said, looking almost lamentable as he threw a bill down onto the counter. “I apologize for bringing up an unpleasant subject. Have a good night, Edward Elric. You do have lovely eyes."

And with that, he was gone. Ed stared at him before turning back to the counter. He grabbed Roy's unfinished martini and slid it toward himself. No need to waste alcohol. Shitty as it was.

* * *

It was an hour later that nature finally called and reminded Edward that as much as he wanted to turn into a gigantic globe of nothingness and slink away from this nightmare of a social affair, he was only human. And humans needed to piss, among other things.

So, he clumsily hopped off the bar stool and headed for the hallway, hoping the toilets were still where he’d last seen them. He was quite drunk.

Which explained why instead of walking into what he’d assumed was the bathroom, he ended up in a completely unrelated storage room, wherein three men were currently trying to shoot a fourth.

_Wait, what?_

Edward stood in the doorway dumbly as silenced shots zipped through the air – the men's target hid behind a massive wooden chest of drawers which was getting systematically destroyed by the bullets. The three shots in question seemed to be goons of some sort – they looked like every bouncer ever, the whole lot of them.

“What the _fuck_?”

Edward's mouth finally caught up with his brain and he appeared to be the distraction the hiding man had needed. The trio turned their heads to look at the new arrival, and that was all the time it took for their target to turn into the hunter: one, two, three bullets made their way into the men's skulls, exiting right through and leaving them bleeding onto the carpet.

Dead.

Edward's eyes widened, and sobriety kicked in when the man behind the chest of drawers stood up shakily, leaning against his makeshift shield.

“What the _fuck_?!”

It was Roy Mustang. The pretentious idiot from the bar. With a huge fucking pistol in his hands and a bleeding abdomen.

Fuck, he was bleeding.

“Fuck, you’re bleeding,” Edward said dumbly.

Roy gave him a little glare and tried to approach, only to have his knees buckle. Something (probably a general lack of a sense of self-preservation) made Edward move, grabbing the man before he collapsed. Roy slumped against his side – Edward could hear that his breathing was labored.

“What the _fuck_?” The younger man breathed, assessing the situation. Three dead goons on the floor and a bleeding, well-dressed Roy Mustang with a gun.

Bleeding, right.

Edward struggled to reach over and kick the door closed, before pushing Roy onto the floor with an indignant groan. He turned the lock shut and fell to his knees next to the bleeding man.

“You were shot,” he murmured.

“A fine assessment,” Roy panted. Ed could see that his face was covered with a sheen of sweat.

“Shut the fuck up, I just saved your life,” Ed said, ripping Roy’s white shirt open to see where the bullet had entered the body. Judging from the position, it was just a graze – Roy was in no mortal danger. Still, he _was_ bleeding.

"Not quite yet," Roy replied, and Edward rolled his eyes, reaching for his tie to staunch the bleeding. It wasn't sterile, but it would have to do.

“You’re so fucking lucky I’m a doctor,” Ed hissed.

“Not quite yet,” Roy repeated, and Ed was of half a mind to leave him bleeding out then and there. Instead, he looked around, happy to find that this was probably where all the housekeeping shit was stored. _There_ , he thought as he grabbed the hotel sewing kit and ripped it open.

“I’m gonna have to stitch–,”

“I know, get on with it,” Roy grunted.

Ed bit his tongue and got to work. There were so many questions on his mind, but he tried to focus on keeping Roy from making a mess on the carpet. A dead mess, to add to the other three dead messes lying in the same room with them.

“You better answer my questions after this, I fucking swear to God,” Ed hissed as he poured mini-bar vodka onto the wound. Roy moaned quietly (and Ed’s nether regions may have gotten a little distracted right then and there).

He worked quickly and efficiently, intermittently muttering curses under his breath when Roy tried to complain. Finally, his job was done.

“You’ll live. But you should get that looked at when you get to a proper hospital.”

“A hotel full of doctors and I get stitched up with a sewing kit,” Roy muttered, sitting up with difficulty.

Ed kind of wanted to punch him right into the wound.

Roy touched his cufflink gingerly. “Hawkeye, they’re dead. Proceed as planned.”

Whatever a Hawkeye was, it seemed to respond the way Roy had expected it to, as the man slumped back against the wall.

“I assume you’ve got questions,” he said, slipping his eyes shut.

Ed poked him in the ribs. “Stay awake and what the fuck was that?”

Roy's lips turned up at the corners. "This hotel is going to get blown up in about an hour, and these guys are working for the guys behind it."

Edward’s brain seemed to take a hot minute processing that.

“Wait, what?” His eyes widened. “What the fuck, Mustang, my father–,”

"That is if we don't stop them."

“We?”

“My colleagues and I. Amestris.”

“Never heard of you,” Ed said, narrowing his eyes.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Roy replied.

Ed flushed. “You calling me dumb?”

The older man sighed. “No, I am just saying that I wouldn’t expect you to know about us. Few people do. We are… an intelligence agency, operating at the highest level of discretion.”

“U.S. intelligence?”

Roy shook his head. “We don’t have a government. We are by ourselves. Governments tend to complicate things. Bureaucracy, the lot.”

Somehow, it made sense, so Edward nodded. He had no idea what else he was supposed to do with this information.

“So… you’re a secret agent?” He asked.

Roy chuckled, groaning when that aggravated his wound. “You make it sound much more glamorous than it is.”

“Well, are you?”

“Of a sort.”

The two of them sat there for a long moment before Edward broke the silence. "I guess we should go and stop those bombers, then."

Roy glanced at him amusedly. “We?”

"You're not getting far with that." Ed pointed at Roy's side. "And I happen to know this place pretty well. All of the hospital functions happen here, and I might have been bored enough to snoop around where I shouldn't have."

“I _do_ have the blueprints; you know that?"

“Are you gonna take me with or not?” Ed snapped. “Because I can just walk right out of here and leave you alone to die.”

“What about your father?” Roy asked, suddenly interested.

Ed’s jaw worked. “I don’t give a shit about him.”

Somehow, those seemed to be the magic words. Minutes later, they were running – well, _staggering_ , with Roy leaning heavily on Ed’s side – down the hallway and into the bowels of the hotel parking garage.

“You’re the weirdest med student I’ve ever met,” Roy muttered.

Ed glanced at him with a smirk. "You must not have met that many then. We’re all fucking weirdos.”

Roy snorted.

“Left now.”

Just as they were about to round the corner, Ed froze.

“Cameras spotted him going this way!”

“Shit,” Roy cursed, letting go of Edward and clicking the safety off his gun. “They must have–,”

Whatever he had to say was silenced, though, because as hurried footfalls echoed, approaching them, Edward did the only thing he knew to do at that moment and pressed Roy against the wall, muffling his word with a kiss.

Roy let out a startled noise, his eyes widening. It took him a moment to realize what was happening, and then he pressed closer, ignoring the fact that he had been haphazardly stitched up after getting shot and deepened the kiss. It was Ed's turn to moan, surprised at the intensity of it. His hands found his way in the lapels of Roy's jacket, and he tugged.

Their pursuers ran right by them, only spitting a couple of ill-mannered homophobic slurs at the two of them as they went.

It took a while for Roy to break the kiss and come back to his senses, only to see Edward’s very dazed golden eyes.

“What… what was that?” The agent asked, and Ed spent a moment composing himself before shrugging.

“Worked, didn’t it?”

They shared a look, which turned into an amused chuckle, before continuing their way down to the garage.

* * *

Several hours later, Edward found himself in the confines of a very posh-looking office. It was almost three in the morning, and he had a dozen missed calls from his father on his phone.

He didn’t give a fuck.

"You didn't tell me you were the boss of the whole thing," he accused Roy who was currently sitting in his chair and being looked at by his doctor. Or the official Amestris doctor. Fuck if Ed knew.

“You didn’t tell me you were good at diffusing bombs,” Roy replied.

Edward shrugged in response. “I’m an erudite, what can I say?”

“Quite.”

They looked at each other while the doctor finished up and walked out the door, leaving them alone. Then Roy reached out and grabbed Ed who landed into his lap with an undignified yelp.

Their noses were pressed together, they were so close, and Roy’s arm around his waist felt weirdly natural.

“Is this the part where you offer me a job at your fancy-ass intelligence agency?” Edward asked. Roy’s eyes crinkled in amusement.

“No, this is the part where I kiss you," he said, leaning in to brush his lips against Ed's. The blond wasted no time in latching onto his collar and deepening the kiss, whimpering softly when Roy brushed a hand over the nape of his neck. 

Fuck, did secret agent training include toe-curling kisses? Probably.

When they parted, Roy licked his lips, eyeing Edward curiously.

“This is the part where I offer you a job.”


End file.
